


Hung Like a Hippogriff

by Magnolia822



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Care of Magical Creatures, Drunk Sex, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Mutual Pining, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 01:24:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13847118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnolia822/pseuds/Magnolia822
Summary: After Dean Thomas catches Malfoy wanking and tells everyone about his giant cock, Harry can’t stop thinking about it. Not because he’s attracted to Malfoy, mind, but because he’s concerned Malfoy is up to something. Er . . .





	Hung Like a Hippogriff

**Author's Note:**

> Writcraft, thanks for your very simple, very inspiring prompt! I was immediately struck with the need to write this fic, and I hope you enjoy it, though it has a lot more plot and ~feelings than I’d intended. I’d also like to give a huge shout out to Omicronian for her wonderful beta and Britpick, especially since I promised this would be shorter! Mods, thanks for running the fest again this year and for your great organizational skills!

“So,” said Dean, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Have you ever heard about Malfoy?” The slightly feral grin on his face captured Harry’s attention in spite of his promise to himself. In the six weeks since they’d been back at Hogwarts for their eighth year NEWTS preparation course, Harry had only seen the blond git a handful of times outside of classes, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t up to something. Of course, Harry was determined not to care.

“What’s he done now?” he asked casually.

“Oh, it’s not so much what he’s done,” said Dean, stabbing his fork into his sausage with something like glee. “It’s about what he’s got—”

“Mate!” Ron interrupted. His face had gone a strange shade of red and he appeared to be strangling on a bite of food. Hermione thwacked him on the back and he coughed, clearing the obstruction. He gave her a grateful smile and then turned his glare back on Dean. “I’m trying to eat here. Can we just not?” 

“Sorry, sorry, but you have to admit, it’s impressive.” Dean picked up his fork and waggled the sausage.

Ron nearly spit out his pumpkin juice. “Speak for yourself. _I_ didn’t see it!” 

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “Oh Godrick. You’re not talking about his—” 

Harry felt his face grow hot as Dean continued his sausage antics, confirming Hermione’s suspicions. He stared down at his own plate, willing himself not to look at the next table over, where Malfoy sat hunched over his meal in between Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini, his back to Harry. His pale blond hair fell in his face, loosened from the tie he used to pull it back now that it was longer. It was a different look from what Harry was accustomed to, and it unsettled him a little for a reason he couldn’t quite name. 

He didn’t hate the git, not really. Not anymore. He didn’t particularly like him either. Malfoy being back at Hogwarts had caused some tension, especially when he’d been assigned to room with Dean, Ron and Seamus. It had mostly been Ron who’d fussed, not wanting to sleep next to the person who was responsible for letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts and spurring on the war that had eventually killed his brother. Harry could understand it. He himself was sharing with Zabini and Neville. So far, the attempt at inter-house reconciliation hadn’t worked the way Headmistress McGonagall intended. Harry rarely spoke to his Slytherin roommate, and until now he’d assumed the other Gryffindors had given Malfoy the cold shoulder as well. Apparently, however, they were getting friendly enough to see each other’s penises. Malfoy’s penis. Harry’s face warmed even further.

“So what’s wrong with it?” Ginny interjected, bringing Harry’s attention back to the table where his friends sat. She took a bite out of her own sausage with a mischievous wink at Harry, and Harry tried not to sink into the floor. The sausage metaphor was really getting out of hand, and he regretted inviting his ex to lunch with them. 

“Nothing.” Dean smiled again, and this time it held the faintest touch of admiration. “Malfoy is hung like a Hippogriff. I saw him,” Dean moved his wrist in a wanking motion, and Harry almost inhaled a piece of the muffin he was chewing, “the other day. Let’s just say that he’s a grower not a shower.” 

“What does a shower have to do with it?” asked Ron.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “It’s a Muggle expression.” 

When she didn’t elaborate further, Ron paused. “Oh. Ohhhh. Nevermind.” 

“So, you saw him wanking?” Ginny said with something like glee. “That must have been awkward.” 

“It was. I don’t think he expected any visitors, but his privacy charms are crap. Anyway, I just thought it was funny, a skinny bloke like Malfoy. You don’t expect it.” 

“So how big was it, would you say?” Ginny asked with a not-so-surreptitious nudge to Harry’s ribs under the table. He stifled his indignant yelp. Just because he’d recently realised he was bisexual didn’t mean he was interested in Malfoy’s dick. He wasn’t obsessed with Malfoy, no matter what his friends might think. 

Dean raised his hand and made a vague wanking motion, a thoughtful expression on his face.   
“At least nine inches. Like I said: a Hippogriff.” 

“Merlin’s balls. I think I’m going to be sick.” Ron did look a bit peaky. Harry couldn’t blame him. All this talk about penises had put him right off his lunch, and he pushed his plate of toad in the hole away. He felt like he’d swallowed a Cornish Pixie, with the way his stomach fluttered and clenched. 

“All right, all right. Let’s talk about something else,” Hermione said, casting a concerned glance Harry’s way. “Did any of you do the Arithmancy reading last night? Don’t you find it fascinating that Pythagoras was the first Witch to apply the Muggle theory to . . .” 

Dean nodded absently and a couple others chimed in as the conversation continued, but Harry’s attention was diverted once again when Malfoy and his friends stood up. Blaise whispered something to Malfoy, and he turned, his eyes locking with Harry’s. His face flushed slightly, and he frowned, almost like he knew they had been discussing his . . . wanking. Malfoy had been wanking and Dean had seen him. 

Harry still didn’t know what to do with that information. It made him feel sweaty and slightly feverish, and Malfoy’s gaze wasn’t helping matters. His frown morphed into something more defiant, and he raised his chin haughtily as he and the other Slytherins passed by Harry’s table. 

With some effort, Harry forced his eyes away, but not before they drifted, almost of their own volition, down the fine line of Malfoy’s sleek body. No matter what Dean said, Malfoy wasn’t scrawny, and the new robes he’d chosen for this year highlighted his backside to great effect. He wondered if Malfoy really did wear his floor-length robes the old-fashioned way, with nothing on beneath, now that he’d come of age. The old pureblood custom wasn’t followed by many in their cohort, but it would be just like Malfoy to do something barmy like that. Harry’s mouth went dry and cottony, and he took a sip of his Pumpkin Juice. 

Just then, a little paper bird flew at his head, hitting him right on his scar. Harry yelped with surprise, only to see Malfoy casting one more smug smile over his shoulder as he departed the Great Hall. 

None of the others had noticed, so Harry picked up the bird and wasn’t surprised when it unfolded itself to reveal a message. 

_See something you like, Potty?_

Harry balled up the paper and stuffed it in his pocket. He had to do something to show Malfoy that he didn’t care about his penis size.

***

Harry did care about Draco Malfoy’s penis size. He didn’t want to. He didn’t intend to. But he did. He bloody cared.

To make matters worse, Malfoy walked into Advanced Charms the following day wearing the tightest Muggle trousers Harry had ever seen, his long legs encased in soft-looking black velvet, punctuated by red dragonhide boots. The round bulge of his crotch was a beacon Harry couldn’t ignore. Their eyes locked for a moment, and Harry remembered the paper bird still crumpled in his robe pocket. He looked away, not wanting to give Malfoy the satisfaction of knowing his snotty note held more truth than Harry would ever be willing to admit. 

But when Malfoy took his seat across the aisle from Harry, he crossed and uncrossed his legs, trying to get comfortable. It was probably difficult with the way the trousers clung to every curve. Harry wondered how that sort of tight fabric would feel against the palm of his hand, and he shook his head. Those were certainly thoughts he shouldn’t be thinking.

Hermione poked him between the ribs with her wand.

“What?” he whispered under his breath.

“You’re staring.” 

Diverting his attention back to his text book, Harry took a deep breath and tried not to panic. It didn’t mean anything. He didn’t fancy Malfoy just because he was interested in seeing his erect penis. Harry stifled a groan and tried to focus, but every time he did, his eyes started to creep back in Malfoy’s direction. To be fair, their Charms textbooks were incredibly boring to everyone save Hermione and maybe Malfoy himself. 

Harry had discovered he liked men as well as women after sixth year, when he was cleaning out Grimmauld Place and came across his godfather’s porn stash, of all things. He’d never known that Sirius was gay. The two of them hadn’t talked about love or sex or anything like that—there hadn’t been time. But now here he was, confronted with a trunk full of Wizarding and Muggle pornography, including certain leather and fisting fetishes Harry wanted to Obliviate from his own mind. 

He’d chuckled uncomfortably at first, but as he looked through the pictures, Harry felt something stir inside him. He saw men kissing each other, and he realised he’d never seen that before. He saw one man touching another’s face, his expression and gesture so tender; he saw a man being stretched out on another’s fat, long cock. Before he knew it, he was wanking, shamefully, desperately, on the floor of Sirius’s bedroom. 

It had pretty much solidified the fact that Harry was bisexual in his own mind, even if he hadn’t been brave enough to tell many people. In fact, the only person who knew for sure was Ginny. He’d owed her that much after the War; he hadn’t wanted any secrets between them. When their relationship fizzled soon after for unrelated reasons, he wasn’t as bothered as he felt he should have been. He was mainly excited. Excited for the chance to be with someone new. Maybe a man. A man with a thick, hefty erection like the ones in Sirius’s magazines, who could fill Harry the way he thought he might want to be filled. 

And then there was Malfoy, who seemed so different but still the same. Malfoy who was wearing bloody Muggle trousers like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered, startling him. 

“Hmm?” 

Hermione gestured toward the front of the room, where Professor Flitwick stood with his arms crossed, looking at Harry expectantly. Everyone else was staring too, including Malfoy, who had a strange expression on his face.

“I’m sorry, Professor. Could you repeat the question?” 

Malfoy whispered something under his breath at Zabini, who sat on his other side. The two of them smirked over at him. Harry bristled. 

“Yes, Harry,” said Professor Flitwick. “I wanted to know your perspective on the ethical use of Mobilicorpus. As you know, the Wizengamot is considering a ban on any sort of secondary body-bind magic used on a Stunned individual. Since you will soon be entering the Aurors, we were wondering if you had any thoughts on whether such a law would place an undue burden on law enforcement?” 

Harry cleared his throat. “Well, Professor. I hadn’t thought much about it. But yes, it does seem rather bollocks to, er, do that to someone who can’t give their consent.” 

Hermione nodded primly, looking pleased, but Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Bloody sanctimonious Potter,” he whispered at Zabini, this time loud enough for Harry to hear. 

Flitwick’s eyes snapped to the left. “Mr Malfoy? I hear you are also planning on entering Auror training at the end of the year. Do you disagree?” 

_Joining the Aurors? Malfoy?_ It was the first time Harry had heard such a thing, and he sat considering it, hardly even listening to Malfoy’s reply. If they were both accepted to the Auror Corps, that would mean three more years of courses and training together. Three more years of this continued antagonism between them: this stupid schoolboy competition that seemed so insignificant now after the War they’d both survived. 

Harry wondered if they maybe they could put it behind them. He wondered if Malfoy would want to. A few weeks back, during their Advanced DADA course, Malfoy had been struggling with a simple spell, his wand sputtering and fizzling like an old Muggle car backfiring whenever he tried to cast. Many in the class laughed, but Hermione said something he’d put out of his mind until now: “Harry, don’t you think Malfoy might want his old wand back? You know how proud he is. He’ll never ask, but don’t you think it’s the right thing to do?” 

Hermione had a way of asking questions that weren’t really questions at all. At the time, Harry had simply scoffed at her and shrugged. But now he wondered.

***

He caught up with Malfoy a week later. “Hey, Malfoy, wait a sec.”

Malfoy spun around, looking lost. He was alone in their dormitory hall; the others were all at lunch. It was the first time Harry had seen him without his friends in days. They seemed to close ranks around him, almost like they thought someone might try to attack him or worse. Harry supposed they might be right to worry. Most people outside of Slytherin still didn’t understand why Malfoy had been let back in the school.

He jogged the rest of the distance to close the gap between them.

“What do you want, Potter?” Malfoy asked. His voice didn’t hold the vitriol it usually did. He sounded almost nervous. Harry couldn’t help giving him a look up and down; he was wearing Muggle trousers again. These ones were smooth and black but still unconscionably tight. He wanted to ask about them, but if he did, Malfoy might get the wrong idea. His hair was tied back, but a few strands escaped and hung to frame his face, making him look slightly less pointy. 

“I have something for you,” Harry said, forcing a tight smile. It was maybe the first time he’d ever smiled at Malfoy. 

“Oh?” Malfoy arched an eyebrow. 

When Harry reached into his back pocket, Malfoy flinched, the movement almost imperceptible, as if he thought Harry was really going to AK him right here in the hall. Harry wanted to roll his eyes, but restrained himself. He held out Malfoy’s wand, and Malfoy blinked down at it. This time he couldn’t hide his surprise, and his lips formed a little ‘o.’ 

“I should have given this back to you earlier. Sorry. It’s a good wand. Do you think it will work any better than the one you have now?” 

Malfoy quickly schooled his features and took the wand, holding it tightly in his fist. “I suppose you’ll want accolades for your kindness. Shall I send an Owl to the Prophet outlining your latest heroic deed?” 

Harry wrinkled his nose. Malfoy could be such a prat, and Harry needed to remember that in spite of how he looked in his trousers. “No, you idiot. I just wanted you to have it back. It’s yours.”

“Okay.” Malfoy cleared his throat. “Thank you.” He started to turn, still gripping the wand.

“Wait a minute, I want to know something. That night at the manor, you didn’t give me up. I know you knew it was me. Why?” A silence descended between them, and Harry didn’t think Malfoy would answer. 

“Because I didn’t want him to win.” Malfoy almost whispered, sounding like the words pained him. Harry wondered if he’d ever admitted it aloud before. He looked Harry in the eye. “But don’t let that fool you. I’m no hero. I’m . . . not a good person.” 

“You’re not a bad person.” 

“Don’t try to redeem me, Scarhead.” Malfoy’s characteristic sneer was back in place. “I don’t want or need your help.” 

And then he did turn, striding down the hall with graceful movements and, Harry thought, just a slight swing to his hips, almost as though he knew Harry was watching.

***

Harry woke up with his pyjamas stuck to his skin with sweat. He had half a flagging erection, and he realised with some embarrassment he’d had a wet dream. Grabbing his glasses and his wand from under his pillow, he vanished the mess in his pants as the last vestiges of the dream returned.

_Malfoy pressed him against the wall of the dungeon, his huge, hard cock digging into Harry’s hip. Harry was sure he could feel it throb against his own. . ._

Harry shook his head to clear it and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Most of his dreams these days were nightmares: visions of the war, of the people he had lost. The previous night, he’d dreamed that he had been the one to kill Tonks and Lupin. He could still see their bodies crumpling at the end of his Avada Kedavra. 

The sex dream would have been a marked improvement, if not for the fact that it was about Malfoy. 

They weren’t exactly enemies anymore, ever since Harry had returned the hawthorne wand, but they weren’t friends either. Harry had noticed a decrease in insults and haughty looks on Malfoy’s part, which he supposed should be a good thing. Malfoy didn’t seem to be paying much attention to him at all. 

After pulling on a warm jumper over his t-shirt, Harry padded his way to the bathroom. He paused momentarily outside of Ron’s—and Malfoy’s—room and wondered if anyone on the other side of the door was awake. He missed sharing a room with Ron. He missed having someone to talk to in the middle of the night when he was having a hard time falling back to sleep. Even though he didn’t want to go back to the days when they were on the run looking for Horcruxes, at least he hadn’t been alone. 

The bathroom was quiet and the stone floor was warm under Harry’s bare feet, charmed to be comfortable for those using the showers. Harry was just about to enter the first stall when, from around the corner, came a half-naked Malfoy, a towel slung low on his hips. His hair was wet, slicked back from his face, and a shade darker than usual. Harry realised he hadn’t seen Malfoy shirtless since before sixth year. Before Malfoy had taken the Mark. 

Harry’s eyes dropped automatically to Malfoy’s forearm, which was partially obscured by one of his hands, his fingers splayed over it. The serpent and skull was static now, from what Harry could see. It looked like a Muggle tattoo, but slightly faded and smudged, like he’d had it for decades instead of a couple short years.

Both of them took a step to the left, then a step to the right, mirroring each other in an awkward dance. Harry couldn’t stop staring at the Mark, and, with a grunt of frustration, Malfoy let go of his arm and thrust it out, right under Harry’s nose. 

“Take a long look, Potter. Is that what you want to see? Is that why you’re always staring at me?” 

“I’m not always staring at you.” 

Malfoy huffed a sharp laugh. “Yes you are.” 

Harry almost said ‘am not,’ but stopped himself. He wasn’t about to give Malfoy the satisfaction of sounding like a five-year old. Instead, he didn’t say anything, which might have been worse, especially since his silence seemed to confirm Malfoy’s assertion. He was looking now.

Malfoy was pale, the blue veins under his skin a delicate contrast to the angry Mark. Before Harry knew what he was doing, he was holding Malfoy’s arm, running one hand along the length of the tattoo and wishing he could Vanish it. It didn’t seem right, not combined with warmth and softness of Malfoy’s skin. It belonged on someone evil, someone cold, and Malfoy was neither of those things. 

“Did it hurt?” Harry asked, his voice almost a whisper in spite of the fact they were alone.

“Yes,” said Malfoy. He was breathing hard, like he’d just run for miles. Harry stroked his skin again, wondering if he’d gone slightly insane. But if he was crazy, so was Malfoy, because he was letting Harry touch him. He was biting his bottom lip, and Harry wondered what Malfoy was thinking. 

“Why did you do it?” 

“I told you. I’m not a good person.”

“That’s not a reason.” 

Malfoy sighed, but he still didn’t pull away. “You want me to tell you they made me do it. You want me to tell you they forced me, that I cried and screamed and tried to get away. I didn’t do any of those things. I wanted it. Do you hear me? I wanted it.” His voice was rising, taking on a slightly desperate edge. His body was trembling slightly. “I wanted to make father proud. I wanted them to think of me as an adult.” 

Harry didn’t know what to say. He was disappointed and angry and, in spite of the truth of Malfoy’s words, defiant. “But you weren’t. You weren’t an adult.” 

“No, but I wasn’t a child either. None of us were. I made a choice, and I made the wrong one. I’ll live with that for the rest of my life.” He pulled his arm away, but this time he didn’t bother covering the Mark with his hand. He seemed resigned, and his bleak expression tugged something loose in Harry’s chest.

“But you changed your mind. You didn’t kill Dumbledore in the tower. Yes, I was there that night, and I saw how scared you were, Malfoy. You were never really one of them.” 

“I was. Stop lying to yourself. I did those things. I was that person.” He was almost whispering, his voice small in the large stone room. 

“But you’re not now?” 

“I don’t know who I am.” 

When Harry dared look in Malfoy’s eyes, he was surprised by how open and honest they were, blinking wide back at him. Malfoy seemed genuinely remorseful, which helped to quell the bitter feelings in the pit of his stomach, and another sensation began to take hold. 

And then he saw the scars. They were faint, nearly invisible in the dim light, crisscrossing across Malfoy’s chest in a pattern strangely reminiscent of a streak of lightning, only this bolt was huge, unlike the scar on Harry’s own forehead. His blood ran cold and he shivered inadvertently, remembering that night. 

Malfoy noticed his attention. “The last time we met in the loos it didn’t go so well for me.” 

Harry tried to take a deep breath but couldn’t, a tightness constricting his chest. His first instinct was to deny his responsibility, to tell Malfoy he hadn’t known what the spell would do. Shamed, he swallowed it down along with his urge to reach out and touch the scars, trace their pattern with his fingers.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” 

“Okay,” said Malfoy. 

He didn’t sound angry, but Harry felt the need to go on. “I know you think I think of myself as some sort of hero, a saviour, but I don’t. That’s what the papers say, but they’re just creating a fantasy. It’s not who I am. I’ve made mistakes too.” 

“Not like mine.” 

“Maybe not. But if there’s one thing I learned in the war, it’s that people aren’t either all good or all bad.”

“Except you-know—except Voldemort.” Malfoy seemed to force himself to say the name, but once it was out in the air, he straightened up. Harry remembered something Hermione once said, that the fear of a name only increases the fear of the thing itself, and he was oddly proud of Malfoy. He snorted in agreement.

“Right. Except for him. But even he didn’t start out completely evil. Anyone can do bad things if they think they’re doing them for the right reasons. And people can change. It’s about making better choices in the future. Dumbledore taught me that.”

Malfoy huffed a quiet laugh. “Careful, Potter, you’re sounding suspiciously saint-like. I may have to alert the papers after all.” 

With that, they both chuckled, and Harry’s shoulders relaxed, his breath coming easier again. They were so close together, nearly touching. Malfoy’s towel was dangerously low on his hips, and a few errant droplets of water trailed down his stomach, almost daring Harry to follow their path with his eyes, which he did, of course. He was only human. Harry’s mouth went cottony as he remembered his earlier dream.

“Anyway, I told you not to try to redeem me.” Malfoy sounded slightly amused. “Why are you trying, by the way? You hate me, Potter. I’ve been nothing but a thorn in your side since the day we met.” 

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know.” 

“I think you do.” 

Malfoy stepped closer still, and this time Harry had no doubt as to his intent. His insides went molten as he felt the brush of Malfoy’s hips against his own. Harry’s sleeping joggers were soft, and he wasn’t wearing pants underneath. His interest was probably obvious. Malfoy’s pupils were blown, his grey eyes almost black in the low light of the bathroom, and Harry found himself getting lost in their depths. 

“Do you want to fuck a Death Eater, Potter? You want me on my knees for you?” 

Harry swallowed as he imagined it; only in his fantasy, he was on his knees for Malfoy, instead. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, his brain short-circuiting from the image of Malfoy standing over him, holding his long cock in one hand and guiding it to Harry’s lips. Harry wondered if he could take it all, if he would gag. He had seen enough of Sirius’s Muggle porn to know what was possible. Of course that wasn’t real life, and he wasn’t a professional. He wondered if he could make it good for Malfoy. 

Suddenly nervous in spite of himself, he hesitated. Malfoy looked confused and a little hurt, and Harry was about to tell Malfoy he’d misunderstood when Malfoy interrupted him. His eyes flashed. “Never mind. You’ll never take what you want, will you? You probably can’t even admit it to yourself, that after all these years you want me, even though I’ve seen the way you look at me, stare at my arse. And now, I can feel your cock—”

“Shut up. Shut that filthy mouth,” Harry said, closing his mouth over a startled Malfoy’s. Their lips crushed against one another, teeth and tongues tangling. Harry groaned into the kiss, grabbing Malfoy by his slender hips so he could get more—so he could feel everything he had wanted to feel for so long. 

The truth of it was Malfoy was right. Harry hadn’t wanted to admit it, but he did want Malfoy, had wanted him for years, probably. His mind flashed to all of the times he’d noticed Malfoy, how he’d followed him around, obsessed over him. It hadn’t been just because he was worried Malfoy was up to no good. When he watched Malfoy, he noticed and appreciated his body; that had been the reason for the dream, the reason he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about what Dean had said.

It made him feel a little better that Malfoy seemed just as eager about their kiss. He fisted Harry’s jumper in one hand, the other wrapping around Harry’s back. There was no space between them at all, and Harry could feel the hard outline of Malfoy’s prick. He instinctively moved his hips against it, wanting to feel his erection slide over Malfoy’s, but there wasn’t enough leverage. And gods, he needed to get a look under Malfoy’s towel, which by now was only held up by their proximity. And then there was the added concern of someone walking in and finding them like this; people had to piss, even in the middle of the night. 

He grunted, breaking the seal between their lips with some reluctance. 

 

“Let’s. . .” And then he was moving them, his legs sliding between Malfoy’s as they stumbled away from the centre of the room back toward the showers. Each stall was private, and since it had been so long since evening showers, dry. Harry yanked the curtain behind them once they were inside the nearest stall, enclosing them in darkness. Malfoy whispered a lumos, and then the enclosed space was filled with soft light. Harry got a better look at Malfoy’s face, and what he saw there went straight to his already painfully hard cock. Malfoy’s eyes were heavy-lidded, his lips swollen and wet from their kisses. It made them seem softer and fuller, and it was hard to imagine them in the usual angry line Harry was used to seeing.

“What do you want to do?” Malfoy asked. He sounded nervous, which gave Harry pause. From the filthy things he’d been saying earlier, Harry assumed he was experienced, but he realised he didn’t really know for certain. Part of him—the part that didn’t trust Malfoy, didn’t even particularly like him—wondered why he should care. He was immediately ashamed of himself, however; he wanted this to be good for Malfoy, and it wasn’t like he had much experience either, despite what he’d done with Ginny. 

“Um,” said Harry, suddenly shy. “I thought I might . . .” He trailed off and swallowed. “Have you ever had anyone . . .”

“Fuck me? Spit it out, Potter. Is that what you’re trying to say?” The bravado was back. “If you must know, no. I’ve never been fucked, and I’ve never fucked anyone. But if you want to make something out of it, don’t. I’m not asking for candlelights and roses, and I’m not some blushing virgin. Not like your Weaslette.” 

Harry rolled his eyes, though he supposed he should be offended. “Ginny is hardly like that.” If only Malfoy knew about what she’d been doing with a sausage just a couple short weeks ago, he’d be shocked. “And anyway, she’s not my Ginny. We broke up.” He reached out and cupped his hand around Malfoy’s narrow hip, wanting to feel the connection again. Malfoy leaned into him, his eyes widening. 

“Oh.” This seemed to be news to Malfoy. “I don’t really care, of course, but it is rather passé to be the other wizard in such a situation.” 

“I’d hate for you to be passé.” To his own ear, Harry’s voice sounded almost fond. “Anyway, where were we?” He leaned in for another kiss, and the feeling of Malfoy’s warm lips made him shudder. Urgency renewed, Harry backed Malfoy against the shower wall and palmed him through the thick cotton. Malfoy was gratifyingly hard, his prick a solid weight when Harry squeezed it. Malfoy let out a soft gasp. 

Harry let his lips travel from Malfoy’s down the long line of his pale neck. He sucked a kiss into éthe protuberant collarbone, remembering Ginny had found the spot sensitive. Malfoy reacted even more enticingly, his hands immediately seeking Harry’s head and running through his hair to pull him closer. Harry obliged, biting lightly and then running his tongue over the spot to soothe the sting. Malfoy’s hips moved against his, and Harry knew if they continued the way they were, he’d be coming in his own joggers before they even got properly naked. 

“I want to suck you,” he whispered, just south of Malfoy’s ear. Malfoy trembled, and Harry figured in for a penny . . . “I want to put my mouth on this huge prick of yours.” 

“Salazar, Potter.” 

“Can I?” 

“Stop asking and just . . .” Harry shut Malfoy up by dropping to his knees. Instinctively he leaned forward and nuzzled along the firm length of Malfoy’s towel-clad erection. He breathed in, inhaling the alluring smell of fresh, clean maleness with just a hint of musk. Harry’s own cock throbbed. He palmed himself to relieve some of the pressure, opening his mouth over Malfoy’s hardness. 

“I’ve never done this before,” Harry whispered, more to himself than to Malfoy, but of course Malfoy overheard. 

“You’re doing a decent job so far.” 

“Decent. You better watch what you say or I’ll leave you like this.” 

“You wouldn’t.”

Harry wouldn’t, but he didn’t need Malfoy to know that. Not wanting to waste another moment, Harry tugged at the waist of Malfoy’s towel, and with only a slight pull the material gave way. His cock jutted out, brushing Harry’s cheek as it bobbed between them, a massive length that made Harry suck in a quick breath. It was as big as Dean had said, maybe even bigger, with a substantial girth to match. It was so big, in fact, it didn’t stand rigidly upward, as Harry’s prick did when he was gagging for it. Harry imagined how it must be to wank such a cock. He imagined Malfoy in bed, using two fists to thrust up into while his hips pumped helplessly. 

“Merlin,” he whispered. How could Malfoy have kept such a prize a secret all these years? He tried to remember any moment in the showers after Quidditch, but there was nothing. 

He didn’t suppose it mattered, not right now when it was right here in front of him, a bead of wetness gleaming at the tip. Harry reached out, and Malfoy’s prick swayed slightly, jumping when Harry touched it tentatively with his fingertips. The head was thick and round, the foreskin pulled back to reveal the pink, delicate skin of the glans. Harry’s belly clenched with arousal. 

He wrapped one hand around the base to hold Malfoy steady, and Malfoy arched his back. “You’re killing me.” 

“I don’t want to do that.” 

Summoning his supposed Gryffindor courage, Harry leaned forward, opened his mouth, and brought it to his lips, kissing the slit like he’d seen in one of Sirius’s movies. Malfoy hissed, and Harry slid his tongue over the tip, savoring the salty bead of liquid there. He had always enjoyed going down on Ginny, but this was a much different experience. Instead of pliant wetness, Malfoy was smooth, his skin soft but firm. Harry liked the contrast. He licked again, this time bringing more than the tip into his mouth. He closed his eyes and sucked lightly, enjoying the weight on his tongue. Malfoy’s prick seemed to get even harder, and Harry pumped the shaft once, letting the moan he’d been holding back slip from his lips as he continued to suck, letting Malfoy in deeper this time. Malfoy made a high-pitched whine at the back of his throat, and Harry smiled. He might be a novice, but he was obviously getting something right.

Moving by instinct now, Harry held Malfoy’s prick with both hands and encouraged him to thrust as he worked over the tip of his cock. It was too massive to get more than a couple inches inside his mouth at a time, and Harry’s lips stretched wide around it. He wished he could just close his eyes and take it, let Malfoy all the way in, all the way down his throat. His cock throbbed and leaked as he imagined what it would feel like to be so impaled. 

“Merlin, Potter. I . . .” Malfoy was panting now, barely able to string together a coherent sentence, and Harry decided he liked him this way, all flushed and mussed up, making tiny whimpering sounds as Harry sucked and sucked and sucked. 

“I’m going to . . . ungh.” Without any more warning, a jet of warm, salty-bitter liquid flooded Harry’s mouth. He swallowed what he could as it happened again, and again, Malfoy pumping his orgasm with artless snaps of his hips, driving his cock as far as it could go before Harry’s gag reflex kicked in. 

At last, the cock in his mouth began to soften, and Harry let go with one hand to desperately scrabble with the ties at his waist. It didn’t take much; he was so close. One, two strokes and he came all over his hand, fiery release streaking through his veins until he felt like he might collapse from the pleasure. 

There was no sound but their heavy breathing and the occasional drip of water from the otherwise dormant shower heads.

Harry stood up, his knees cracking. They were sore, and his mouth and tongue were tired, but he hadn’t felt so relaxed and sated in a long time.

Malfoy’s wand had gone dark, fizzing out as he lost his concentration during his climax. Harry could barely make out his profile, but he watched as Malfoy gathered his towel, their bodies brushing together in the tight space. He waited a moment, wondering if Malfoy would push past him, hurry to get away and escape the sudden awkwardness, but neither of them moved as the seconds stretched on. 

Finally, Harry broke the stalemate. He leaned forward and pressed his lips quickly against Malfoy’s before he could talk himself out of it. Malfoy didn’t resist, but he didn’t deepen the kiss either. He made a soft, confused sound. 

“I’ve got to get back before someone realises I’ve gone,” said Harry, slightly breathless again. 

“Yeah. You wouldn’t want anyone to know what you’ve been up to, would you, Potter? Don’t worry; your dirty little secret is safe with me.” 

Harry didn’t know what to say to that; he supposed he was gaping like a fish. It was true that he didn’t exactly know what he wanted to say to his friends, but he didn’t want Malfoy to think about it like _that_ , either.

“That’s not—”

“Don’t worry about it, Potty. I can only imagine the damage to my own reputation if word gets out. It’s best we keep this between ourselves.” 

“Erm. Okay.” Harry didn’t know why he was agreeing, or why Malfoy was so prickly so soon after . . . But then Malfoy was always prickly, wasn’t he? And Harry had been on his knees for him. He felt the blood rush to his face, and along with it a surge of confusion and desire. 

By the time he figured out what he wanted to say, it was too late; Malfoy was gone.

***

It was another two days before Harry saw Malfoy again. He’d spent the better part of twenty-four hours preparing for their next encounter, but it turned out he needn’t have bothered. Malfoy completely ignored him in Charms, and in Arithmancy they sat on opposite ends of the room. Harry found himself nodding along to whatever Hermione was saying at lunch, as his eyes travelled over to the small group of Slytherins.

They had closed ranks around Malfoy again, and Harry wondered if he had said something to Pansy or Zabini. He supposed he would be getting a lot more scowls from the lot of them if that were true, however, and Malfoy wouldn’t even look in his direction.

He wondered what he had done wrong. Malfoy was obviously upset about Harry wanting to return to his room before he was found out, but Harry wouldn’t have wanted his roommates to know about a tryst with Ginny, either. It was no one’s business but his own. He justified this to himself again and again, even while another, more honest voice niggled in the back of his mind. _You really don’t want them to know about Malfoy, do you? You haven’t even told anyone beside Ginny you like men. And this would just prove to everyone you’ve wanted Malfoy all along. This would prove them right._

So Malfoy ignored him, and he wore his tight Muggle trousers, and Harry tried and failed not to stare. He tried and failed not to dream of what had happened between them. He tried and failed not to think about what it would be like to do it again.

A few days later, Harry was walking the grounds near the edge of the Forbidden Forest in the evening. He often did to escape the others and clear his head, especially now that the eighth years were prohibited from playing on their house Quidditch teams, their age seen as an unfair advantage and heavily weighted in favor of returning Gryffindors. 

The day was closing cold and clear with a hint of snow in the air. Harry breathed out, warming his face under the invisibility cloak. 

A loud crack rang out to the left, and he spun, wand at the ready, as the sound of raised voices followed. It sounded like a large branch had come down, or one of Weasley’s Wheezes firecrackers had gone off. Maybe some of the Muggleborns were celebrating Guy Fawkes Night early. Harry took a few tentative steps toward the line of trees, unease making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Ever since he had died in the forest, he had found the place even more unsettling than he had as a child, but he still kept coming.

He blinked and focused on the murky darkness beyond, seeking out movement. A rustle in the undergrowth made him freeze, and he held his breath as his brain hurried to translate what his eyes were seeing, because surely it couldn’t be Hagrid and _Malfoy_ corralling a baby Hippogriff. 

Baby was perhaps a bit of a misnomer. It was the size of a pony: smaller than Buckbeak, with bright, almost white feathers. It bristled and squawked, ruffling its wings and taking a step back from the two men, hoofs kicking up clouds of pine needles and dirt. 

“Aye, aye,” Hagrid was saying. “Steady on there, Draco. Don’t startle ‘er.” 

_Draco??_

Malfoy held out an apple, his arms extended in front of him. He was whispering something Harry couldn’t quite make out, his steps slow and sure. The baby stamped and snorted, head down. For a moment, Harry wondered if it would charge at Malfoy, and his heart seized in his throat. He took a few steps closer, mesmerized. 

But then Malfoy was reaching out, gentling the creature as it took the apple in two precise bites. “Shh. There, there Lethe. You’re all right. Did those silly Centaurs scare you? It’s okay, they’re gone now. You’re okay.” Malfoy smoothed back the bright feathers on the crest of the baby’s head, and she bumped his hand playfully, letting out a high-pitched squeak. The smile on Malfoy’s face was the most brilliant Harry had ever seen. His heart started thumping, and the bottom of his stomach dropped, almost like he was swooping down on his broom from on high in pursuit of a Snitch. 

Hagrid grinned and chuckled. “You sure do ‘ave a way with ‘er. A few years ago, I never would’ve predicted it, not in a million years, but I reckon stranger things ‘ave ‘appened. You want to take ‘er back to the stable?” 

Malfoy nodded, and the Hippogriff tucked her head under his arm. The two of them made a stunning picture, Malfoy’s hair and the Hippogriff’s feathers nearly matched in colour. And the creature was making a sound Harry had never heard before, almost like a purr. For his part, Malfoy seemed to enjoy the company just as much. He hadn’t stopped smiling since the Hippogriff had eaten the apple. When they turned and started making their way in the direction of the Thestral paddock, Hagrid following behind, Harry was almost bereft. He wanted to throw off his cloak and shout out, wanted to find out what the baby Hippogriff was doing there, and more importantly, how Malfoy had become such a close friend.

It was so incongruous with everything Harry knew about him. He wondered if maybe he didn’t know Malfoy at all.

***

The sofa in the new eighth year common room was so soft and plush, it was almost like floating on a cloud. Tired and more than a little tipsy, Harry sank back into the cushions, Ron at his right, to observe the party in full swing. It was the night before Christmas hols, and McGonagall had given them permission to have a ‘well-mannered soiree’, though she had also made a point not to inquire too closely about what they had planned. Harry thought she probably wouldn’t strongly approve, but she had given them license to let loose all the same, so long as none of the younger students were in attendance.

Padma, Hannah, Susan and several other girls danced in the middle of the room, shaking their hips to the latest from the Weird Sisters, while admirers, Neville and Michael Goldstein among them, looked on, sipping their Firewhiskey and working up the courage to join them. Hermione and Lavender were laughing together and drinking punch on the settee opposite, giving Ron looks every once in a while that made Harry suspect they were having a good time comparing notes. Luckily his friend didn’t seem to notice. He was arguing Quidditch scores with Ernie Macmillan, who sat on his other side. 

Yet no matter how hard he tried, Harry’s eyes kept drifting back to where Malfoy stood, next to the punch bowl and spread of food, talking to Zabini and Millicent Bulstrode. 

Harry had been surprised the Slytherins showed up, but they had integrated into the rest of the crowd as the night wore on and the alcohol flowed freely. Even Pansy Parkinson was now dancing with the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Malfoy was talking animatedly, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright. His hair, now grown past his shoulders, was free and loose and looked soft to touch. From behind, he could have passed for a tall, thin girl, but Harry wasn’t under any illusion. Malfoy was definitely all male. 

Harry shifted in his seat, and almost as though he’d seen the movement, Malfoy’s eyes caught his. They stared at one another for a long beat, and Harry’s trousers seemed suddenly tighter. He wondered if Malfoy ever thought about that night, and felt certain he had. The long weeks since had been agonizing, but Harry was more certain than ever that if he wanted something more to happen, he was going to have to make the first move. But he couldn’t be imagining the look in Malfoy’s eyes. They burned with intensity; it was almost like an invitation. 

“Innit right, mate?” Ron jostled his arm. He snapped his head to the right only to find Ernie and Ron looking at him expectantly. He flushed. 

“Erm. Right. Yes, they’re crap this year, and they’ll be crap the next, until they get rid of Dorkins for good.” He figured Ron had been whinging about the Cannon’s manager, whose latest acquisition was a player Ron hated from a rival team. It was pretty much the only thing he’d talked about all day, aside from complaints about holiday homework and his concern over what to buy Hermione for Christmas.

His gamble paid off. “Exactly.” Ron said, jostling him again.

“I’m going to the loo,” Harry replied. He stood up, eyes immediately drifting back to Malfoy, only to find the object of his interest gone. A quick search of the periphery confirmed Malfoy had indeed left the party, which meant he’d either gone to the loos or back to his room. 

Making a guess, Harry slipped out the door and turned right toward the dormitories, remembering Malfoy’s pointed look. With everyone else accounted for, Harry was optimistic this was the chance he’d been waiting for. A chance to get Malfoy alone again and see that magnificent cock. 

His stomach swam with excitement as he approached Malfoy’s door; it was cracked, a bit of light filtering out into the dark hall. Nearby, a portrait snored, the male subject’s large belly rising and falling under folded hands, his bulbous nose ruddy with drink. Maybe they’d had a party too. Harry knocked lightly.

The door opened, and Malfoy appeared, his shirt partially unbuttoned as though Harry had caught him getting ready for bed. Suddenly unsure he’d read the situation right, he took a step backward, only to find himself manhandled into the room by a very determined-looking Malfoy. He was much stronger than he looked, and Harry must have been pissed if Malfoy’s hands on his arms made him feel close to swooning. 

“Did anyone see you?” Malfoy asked, closing the door quickly and whispering a spell which would hopefully keep his roommates at bay. Harry’s locking charms were notoriously ineffective, and he doubted Malfoy’s were much better if Dean had walked in on him wanking. 

“I don’t think so.” 

“Good. Now for the love of the four founders, get your kit off and get in my bed.” 

Harry didn’t have to be told twice. It was easy to recognize Malfoy’s bed amongst the red and gold; though there were no snakes to be seen, his bedspread seemed to shimmer, the fabric a mixture of green and silver that looked almost like the sea at twilight. Rather than comment on how unusual it was, however, Harry opted for pulling his shirt over his head while kicking off his trainers. He had never been in such a frenzied rush to undress himself before, and in his haste he almost missed Malfoy’s slower, more methodical disrobing. Harry forgot himself somewhere around shimmying out of his trousers. Malfoy’s body was gorgeous, and unlike the first time, when they’d hardly been able to glimpse one another in the darkness of the showers, now Harry could drink in every plane and angle, every muscle as it was unveiled. 

He bit his bottom lip when Malfoy pulled down his black y-fronts. His cock wasn’t hard yet, and it was barely longer than Harry’s own. His bollocks were large and heavy, swinging low between his legs. Harry’s mouth watered. He hadn’t paid them any attention their first round, and he wasn’t about to make the same mistake again. 

When Malfoy was fully naked, he saw Harry staring, and he stared right back. Malfoy’s cock started to lengthen, and Harry watched, fascinated as it grew and grew under his gaze. He had been hard since he entered the room, and now he was aware of the disparity between their pricks. 

Malfoy didn’t seem to care, though. He was staring at Harry with lust in his eyes, an almost predatory curl to his lips. 

“Merlin, Potter. Have you grown up.” 

Harry didn’t think much his own looks, but he had filled out during the summer after the war with the help of Molly’s cooking. In addition, he’d spent a lot of time out in the gardens behind the Burrow as well as helping to rebuild a few wizarding houses that the Death Eaters destroyed. The labour and extra calories had combined to make his chest broader, his biceps larger. Malfoy seemed appreciative, and it gave Harry a burst of satisfaction. He was glad Malfoy liked his body, and he sat down on the bed to remove the rest of his clothing, not letting his eyes drift away from Malfoy for a second. 

“I like the way you look on my bed,” said Malfoy, standing between his legs. And then they were together, naked, a tangle of limbs on Malfoy’s ridiculously expensive bedding. Malfoy rolled them so that he was on top, and he ground down against Harry, their cocks sliding together. The sensation, soft and hard all at once, awkward and perfect, had Harry’s belly clenching with desire. He buried his hands in Malfoy’s soft hair, pulling gently, urging him down for a kiss that was anything but chaste. Their tongues twisted together, mouths urgent as they panted and struggled for dominance. 

Malfoy pinned Harry’s hands above his head, and Harry let him take control, loving the feel of their pricks aligned, smearing wetness on their bellies. It was reckless and stupid, probably, as Ron and Hermione would soon be looking for him, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to care. His body was strung tight, straining against Malfoy’s as he flipped them again so he was on top. This way, he could control the pace of the thrusts. He reached down between them and started to wank Malfoy’s cock, his hand barely able to wrap fully around it. 

“You’re so big,” he said. 

Malfoy flushed and turned his head. “I know.” There was no note of smugness or pride in his voice, and Harry realised through the foggy haze of his arousal that Malfoy was embarrassed about his size. 

“I love it.” 

“You do?” Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, obviously,” Harry said, kissing down the side of Malfoy’s neck. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, to be honest.” 

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” 

“You were ignoring me! I thought you regretted it.” 

“No you didn’t, Potter.” Malfoy sounded so sure of himself, Harry couldn’t even argue. He didn’t know what was true anymore. Nothing mattered except the fact that Malfoy wanted him, and they were together tonight. Everything else could wait.

“Can I suck you again?” 

Malfoy blinked. “What kind of question is that?” He flopped down on his back, hands behind his head. “Have at me, if you must.” 

Harry grinned and slid down the bed, so that he was bracketed by Malfoy’s golden-haired thighs, which widened to accommodate him. His attention was riveted on Malfoy’s prick. There was something so satisfying about its length, its solidity. Harry wondered what it would feel like to be fucked. He knew it would hurt, but would it feel good, too? Would Malfoy want to do that to him? 

He leaned down and took the tip into his mouth, working the rest with his hands. He was rewarded almost immediately by a burst of warm, masculine flavor as Malfoy responded, grew harder under his tongue. Harry thrust against the bed as he started to suck in earnest, hollowing out his cheeks and drawing Malfoy deeper, until his prick hit the back of Harry’s throat and Harry gagged, pulling off as his eyes watered. Malfoy didn’t seem to mind Harry’s lack of finesse. He moaned when Harry dipped back down, this time taking a deep breath, relaxing to get as much of Malfoy in his mouth as possible. It was sloppy and loud, and Malfoy looked like he might be dying. 

“Salazar, who knew you were such a cockslut, Potter?” He looked like fallen angel, his hair wild over the pillows, hands clenching and unclenching the shimmery fabric. Even so, if Malfoy was still able to form coherent sentences, Harry wasn’t working hard enough. 

Experimentally, he trailed one finger down between Malfoy’s arse cheeks and caressed the soft furl of his hole. It was so incredibly small, Harry could barely get the tip of his finger inside. Malfoy keened, writhing like he wanted more, his bollocks drawing up tighter. Harry sucked and sucked, getting his finger wet with saliva and pushing it deeper, past the second knuckle. He had done this to himself once or twice—inspired again by Sirius’s collection—but he’d never enjoyed it as much as Malfoy seemed to be. Harry pushed his finger in and out, holding Malfoy’s base with his other hand, sucking and licking and doing his best to drive Malfoy out of his mind.

He watched his finger open Malfoy up and imagined it was his cock; he had never wanted anything so badly as to push his prick inside. But he also was enjoying the show. It was so incredibly hot; maybe the hottest thing Harry had ever seen.

He must have said so out loud, because Malfoy laughed. “You _are_ a sweet talker, aren’t you? Get up here. Now.” 

Harry’s neglected prick liked the sound of that. With some maneuvering, they readjusted themselves on the bed so Malfoy was on top again, newly conjured lube sliding their wet pricks together. Harry looked down between their bodies, and it was over for him. He came, smearing spunk against Malfoy’s taut belly as Malfoy shook and cried out, giving up his own orgasm.

They lay next to one another for some time, even after Malfoy had cast a cleaning charm and there was no reason for Harry to be there anymore. No reason except Harry didn’t want to move. He was suddenly exhausted, and his tipsiness had all but disappeared. He chanced a glance at Malfoy, watching his finely boned, pointy profile. How had he ever thought Malfoy unpleasant to look at? He could probably stare for hours. 

“No one . . . no one’s ever . . . wanted to do that for me before. Not so much, at least.” Malfoy turned to face Harry, a wry smirk on his lips. 

“Why not?” Harry could hardly believe it. 

Malfoy shrugged. “I’m not to some people’s tastes, I suppose.” 

“You mean how big you are.” 

Malfoy’s cheeks pinked. “Yes, that’s what I mean, Potter.”

Harry thought about his own fantasies, his interest in some of the larger men in the videos he’d seen. He wished he could reach down and stroke Malfoy’s softened cock, see if he could get it to respond again, but he wasn’t sure Malfoy would want that. It was something an intimate lover might do, and they weren’t that. “I love how big you are.”

“I’d gathered from the first time you said it.” Malfoy rolled his eyes, but his words were playful. 

Harry shrugged. “Well, now you really know.” 

Malfoy looked pleased. He smiled at Harry, and it was the same smile he’d given the little Hippogriff. It made Harry’s belly tighten, not with desire, but with something warmer and sweeter.

“I haven’t ever done it before—that—to a bloke, I mean.” 

Malfoy was quiet, as though contemplating Harry’s words. 

“What about you? Do you like girls as well, or are you . . .”

“Gay as a gander? Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not really.” Harry did allow himself to touch Malfoy this time, running his hand along Malfoy’s narrow hip. “I thought you were dating Pansy Parkinson. You’re always together.” 

The horrified look on Malfoy’s face was almost comical. “Merlin, no, Potter. Pansy and I are friends, of course, but that would be like you and Granger dating.” He wrinkled his nose as though he couldn’t stand the idea of Harry and Hermione together, maybe, Harry thought, because the idea made him jealous. 

Harry hoped he was right. And while he truly loved Hermione, he didn’t think he could ever be romantically interested in her. She had lectured him one too many times over the years, though he often deserved it. 

“Fair enough.” 

Another several minutes passed in companionable silence that was strange and unexpected and wonderful. Harry had imagined things would be awkward between them, as they had the first time, but maybe it didn’t have to be that way. Maybe they could actually be friends. _More than friends,_ the voice in his head whispered.

“What are you doing over hols? Are you going home to the manor?” 

Malfoy, who had been resting his head almost—but not quite—against Harry’s shoulder, pushed himself up on the bed. 

“Actually, no. I’m staying here. What about you? I imagine you’ll be off to the Weasley’s . . . quaint home.”

While Harry suspected Malfoy had been about to say something nasty about the Burrow, he appreciated the deflection. “Actually, I’m staying here as well.”

“You would rather stay here than be with them? Why?” 

“I guess I don’t have a good reason.” While of course he had been invited and urged to come, he wondered if maybe it would be better for him to take a short break. It had been a hard summer for all of them. He loved the Weasleys like they were his own family, but sometimes being with them, he felt the weight of all of their grief about Fred pile on top of his own until he couldn’t breathe. He needed some time away. “Why are you staying?” he asked Malfoy as an afterthought. 

“There’s something I need to take care of.” 

The enigmatic answer made Harry think immediately of the baby Hippogriff, but he didn’t want Malfoy to know he had seen him and Hagrid that night, at least not yet. He would be here with Malfoy for two weeks with no other eighth years, and he was hoping Malfoy wanted to continue this . . . whatever it was they were doing. 

“Okay. Well, maybe I’ll see you around,” Harry said, trying to play it cool as he pulled his shirt back over his head. He didn’t want to seem too eager. 

“Oh, sod off, Potter.” Malfoy shoved his arm. “Seriously, get out of my room if you’re just going to pretend like this didn’t happen.” 

Harry stood up, searching for his pants. “I’m not going to do that. But I don’t know what this is, do you? Can we just keep it between us for now until we figure it out?” 

Malfoy gave a quick nod, but he still looked uneasy, as skittish as the little Hippogriff had looked after his run-in with the Centaurs. Harry reached out and touched his shoulder, then leaned down and kissed his cheek, feeling a little silly performing such a chaste gesture after what he’d just done. Malfoy seemed to like it, though. He flushed from the tips of his ears down to his chest, a pretty colour that made him look young and alive. 

“You better hurry back before someone notices you’re gone,” Malfoy said, looking down at his hands where they folded over his bent knees. 

“I’ll see you later.” 

“See you.”

***

“Harry,” said Hermione, stepping forward to fuss with the collar of his jumper. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay here?”

They were standing together in the freshly-cleaned common room, which, despite the thorough scouring it had received earlier that morning, still retained the slightest whiff of Gillyweed. Most of the other students had already left, but Hermione and Ron were among the final stragglers. Harry had a feeling they were dragging their feet to see if he’d change his mind. 

He batted her hands away with a soft huff. “I’ll be fine ‘Mione. Honestly, I have a lot of work to catch up on and this will give me the chance to finish my application essay to the Auror training program.” 

She shared a skeptical look with Ron, who glanced around the room as if to make sure they were alone, before leaning closer. “Mate, you know if you change your mind, you’re always welcome. I still don’t reckon why you want to spend hols here with Malfoy, of all people—Ouch!” he exclaimed as Hermione gave him an elbow to the ribs. 

“We’ve got to catch the train. We love you, Harry.” She gave him a peck on the cheek. “Make sure to Owl if you have any news.” There was a knowing glint in her eye Harry wasn’t sure he liked, and he felt his cheeks grow warm. It was impossible she knew about what had been happening between him and Malfoy, wasn’t it? Then again, Hermione had always been more observant than the rest of his friends, especially where relationships were concerned. 

“Erm. Sure.” 

Ron slapped him on the arm. “Right, mate. Take care.” 

And with that, his friends were gone, leaving him alone in the eighth year dormitory. Well, almost alone. Harry’s heart skipped a beat when he thought about Malfoy maybe still in bed, maybe naked as he had been the previous night. Running a hand through his already messy hair, Harry groaned. He wanted to knock on the door and continue what they’d started, but he wasn’t sure it would send the right message to seek out sex as soon as the others had left. He wasn’t sure what message he wanted to send, but he didn’t want Malfoy to feel like Harry was using him. So he kept his distance, waiting for Malfoy to come to him. 

He didn’t see Malfoy until later that evening, in fact, when the house elves brought up dinner from the kitchens, setting it out on the table near the fire in the common room. There was far too much food for two people: a spiral ham, sliced neatly and decorated with cherries and oranges, a huge steaming bowl of mashed potatoes smothered in gravy, fragrant roasted vegetables, and an entire pumpkin pie. Harry was in the middle of piling his plate high when Malfoy entered the room. 

His eyes widened when he saw Harry, and a tentative smile spread over his face when his gaze travelled to the food and Harry’s substantial portion. “Hungry, Potter?” 

Harry’s stomach flipped with a swarm of nervous butterflies as Malfoy made the double entendre clear with an arch of one narrow eyebrow. He looked extremely fit in a pair of his slim Muggle trousers, which hugged every curve of his thighs and arse, and a grey jumper which matched his eye colour almost perfectly. Harry felt a bit underdressed in his Harpies jersey and jeans. 

“Definitely,” he managed. 

“Well, I hope you don’t mind a little company for dinner.” 

“No, of course not. I was hoping you’d come.” He stepped aside as Malfoy brushed past, their shoulders grazing. 

“I’ll bet you were.” Malfoy gave Harry another sly smile over his shoulder as he picked up his own plate. Harry felt his nerves settle, replaced by a flare of interest and amusement. Malfoy seemed to be in the mood for games, and while Harry wasn’t as adept at flirting, he could certainly play along. 

Dinner plates in hand, they retreated to sit side-by-side on the overstuffed sofa. Malfoy crossed his long legs and charmed his plate to hover in position so he could use his fork and knife together. Impressed, Harry did the same. “Who needs TV trays, right?” he said with a grin. 

“Potter, I have no idea what you’re talking about, but it sounds abhorrent.” 

For all of his teasing of Harry, it was Malfoy who ate the most heartily, helping himself to a huge slice of pie once he’d finished his meal. Harry found himself utterly charmed by the way Malfoy ate, dabbing his lips with his napkin after every few bites and Vanishing any crumbs as they fell on his lap with a wandless spell. 

“You’ll have to show me how to do that. Or actually, maybe you could do Hermione a favor and teach Ron.” 

“Of course,” said Malfoy, folding his napkin. “I live to teach you boorish Gryffindors simple table manners.” 

“Ha.” Harry rolled his eyes. He was beginning to understand that Malfoy didn’t mean anything by the insults; it was his way of teasing, maybe even his way of showing affection. Which was problematic up in its own way, of course, but also strangely adorable. 

And now he was thinking about Malfoy as adorable. He truly had gone round the twist. 

Once their plates were set aside, Malfoy moved a fraction of an inch closer on the sofa, so that his knee settled against Harry’s thigh. “So, it looks like we’re all alone. However should we entertain ourselves?” 

It turned out both of them had similar ideas regarding the best way to spend their time. Immediately after Harry had cast the necessary privacy spells to keep any would-be-visitors at bay, Malfoy was pushing him down into the cushions, and this time it was Harry on the receiving end of a very enthusiastic blow job. Malfoy’s lips were incredible, his tongue wicked, and Harry’s orgasm built and crested fast; luckily, he didn’t have time to be embarrassed because Malfoy came seconds later, his huge cock spilling across his fist as he wanked himself, still sucking Harry’s spent and softening prick. 

They parted ways not long after, both of them tired from the food and sex, with Harry wondering if he should invite Malfoy to his dorm room to sleep. Of course, sleeping together—really sleeping—seemed like a big step. Too big a step to take without Malfoy suggesting it. So Harry kissed Malfoy and tasted himself on Malfoy’s lips for the first time, which might have been enough to get him going again if it had lasted longer than a couple of seconds. Even so, he retreated to his room with a smile on his face.

***

The days and nights continued to pass in similar fashion—too quickly, in Harry’s opinion. He spent most of his time walking the grounds and trying to think up a topic for his essay without much luck, since Malfoy disappeared during daylight hours to who-knew-where. Well, Harry did know where—at least he suspected that Malfoy was caring for the baby Hippogriff and for some reason hadn’t told Harry during any of their late nights in the common room. They had established a routine, of sorts, meeting for dinner and then for more, but neither had yet suggested staying together overnight in one of their rooms.

Harry wanted to. His lust for Malfoy was morphing into something more complicated. It wasn’t just the sex he looked forward to in the evenings, it was talking to Malfoy, sitting with him as the fire crackled in the grate and the wind howled outside. Maybe others would have found it strange he was enjoying Malfoy’s company, but it turned out when they weren’t trying to hex each other, they actually got along. Malfoy was a good listener. He didn’t judge Harry when he complained, didn’t expect him to be perfect. In fact, he didn’t hesitate to point out when he thought Harry was wrong. So few other people did that these days, Ron and Hermione excepted, it was refreshing. Especially since it always ended with one of them in the other’s lap.

He still wasn’t sure what it meant, or how long it would last, but he did know that Malfoy had changed from the boy he’d been before the war. He was still prickly, proud, and snobbish, but he was more open, too—more open to other people’s ideas and differences. He was vulnerable, as well, and Harry saw the damage the war had inflicted on him whenever Malfoy looked at the mark on his arm. 

On Christmas Eve morning, Harry woke up to a knock at the door. Scrubbing a hand across his face and struggling with his shirt, he shuffled to open it, belatedly realising he could have simply unlocked the stupid thing with his wand. 

Malfoy was on the other side, swaying from one foot to the other as though nervous. He smiled salaciously, though, when he noticed the morning erection bulging Harry’s joggers. 

“Hey,” said Harry. It was quite early, and the rest of the castle was likely still asleep. “You alright?” He opened the door wider, hoping Malfoy was planning to come in and make the unexpected wake up worth his while. 

“Meet me in front of the castle in five minutes,” Malfoy said instead, turning on his heel, his robes and loose hair billowing as he strode down the hall, looking from the back like a younger, blonder version of Snape. Harry adjusted himself and sighed, regret warring with interest in what Malfoy had planned for them. 

Downstairs, Malfoy greeted Harry with a curt nod as they set out. The temperature had dropped overnight, and the frosty, dead grass crunched under their feet as they walked. Harry wasn’t wearing any gloves, and Malfoy didn’t have a hat, so he cast a wandless warming charm over them both, pleased when Malfoy gave him an impressed smile. 

“Where are we headed?” Harry asked, somewhat reluctant to break the companionable silence. It wasn’t like Malfoy to be so quiet; he spoke often and quickly whether he was nervous or content.

“I wanted to show you something. The reason I wanted to stay here over the break. Well, one of them.” The last few words were uncharacteristically mumbled, but Harry decided to take them as a compliment.

In confirmation of Harry’s suspicions, they passed Hagrid’s vacant hut—he had gone to visit Madame Maxime over the holidays—and entered the Forbidden Forest near the Thestral paddock. The forest was quiet, punctuated only by the occasional calls of birds and less ordinary creatures, and Harry’s excitement grew. It had been a long time since he’d seen a Hippogriff up close. 

The Thestral herd was concentrated around a trough of fresh meat, their frightening jaws clacking as they ate, hoofs stamping the ground. Though they were gentle creatures and Harry was familiar enough with them by now, they still gave him the creeps. As Harry and Malfoy approached, the leader of the herd raised its head and snorted the air, scenting it for danger. Determining them to be harmless, it turned its attention back to the gruesome feast. 

“You’re taking care of the Thestrals?” Harry asked, surprised and somewhat disappointed the baby Hippogriff was nowhere to be seen. 

“Yes, actually.” Malfoy wrinkled his nose; he obviously wasn’t very fond of the beasts himself but was doing his best to disguise it. “They’re very hungry in the morning. But this isn’t what I wanted to show you. There’s something else.”

He grabbed Harry’s arm and led him around the side of the paddock towards the stable where Hagrid kept several Axabrans, gifts from his on-again, off-again ‘lady friend,’ as he referred to Madame Maxime. The winged horses weren’t there currently, as he’d used them for his trip, but there was something in the stable. 

A squawk sounded from beyond one of the wood-panelled stalls, and a white, feathered wing stretched up. Malfoy made a soothing sound, clucking as he walked forward to open the door. The baby Hippogriff craned its neck and squawked again, ruffling its feathers in what seemed like pleasure as Malfoy approached, holding out his upturned hand. 

It was about a third of Buckbeak’s size, and Harry was mesmerised again, as he’d been the first time, by the way the creature responded to Malfoy, giving him gentle head-butts and making that strange purring sound. 

“I missed you too,” Malfoy said with a laugh as the Hippogriff gently nipped his fingers. “So,” he said, turning back to Harry. “This is Lethe. She’s an orphan, and I’ve been taking care of her for the past couple months. For some reason, she likes me.” 

Harry considered the two of them. “She looks like you. Maybe she thinks you’re her father.” 

Malfoy put a hand on the baby’s back and stroked one of her wings. “You’re an idiot, Potter.” He didn’t seem to hate the idea, though. He fed the Hippogriff a bit of something from one of his pockets, smiling and cooing at her as she ate.

“Can I touch her?” 

Malfoy nodded. “Just make sure you do a proper bow. I know you’re an expert and all, but she’s a bit skittish.” 

Harry rolled his eyes at Malfoy, but he followed his instructions, bowing and then getting down on one knee in front of the small creature, so she wouldn’t be afraid of his height. She responded hesitantly at first, keeping close to Malfoy’s side, but eventually she stretched out her neck and smelled Harry’s fingers, huffing softly. A sandpapery tongue followed, licking Harry’s fingers and hand almost like a dog might. 

“Silly creature,” said Malfoy fondly. “I guess she finds you acceptable.” 

Harry straightened up and watched as Malfoy tended the Hippogriff, feeding her several large rodents from a bucket that had been preserved with a stasis charm and Vanishing the mess she’d made overnight. Though Lethe’s breakfast was almost as disgusting as the Thestrals’, Malfoy didn’t seem to mind. 

“Why is she called Lethe? Did you name her?” It sounded like a choice Malfoy might make. 

“It’s selfish, really.” Malfoy dusted off his hands and crossed his arms. “When I’m here with her, I can forget.” 

The sentiment was one Harry found all too familiar, and he nodded, not wanting to press further and break the fragile companionship between them. Malfoy was trusting him with this, showing Harry a side of himself he kept hidden from almost everyone else. It had to mean something. 

“So this is where you’ve been disappearing to every day.” 

“You don’t seem as surprised as I thought you would be.” Malfoy put his hands on his hips, cocking his head. “Aren’t you going to ask why on Circe’s island Hagrid would entrust me with the care of his precious magical creatures?” 

“Sure. I mean, of course I’m curious, but I figure you’ll tell me if you want. Hagrid must’ve chosen you for a reason.” 

Malfoy frowned at him. “A reason, yes. I asked.” 

“You did?” 

“I know it’s strange. But it’s been difficult since the war ended to find a place again.” Malfoy was speaking quickly, not meeting Harry’s eyes. “I know you lot don’t—or didn’t, at least—want us here. My family is disgraced, and no one will even accept our money for reparations. The animals don’t care about any of that. I can make amends to them at least, in a small way.” As if to confirm Malfoy’s statement, Lethe nudged Malfoy’s arm, encouraging him to lift it and let her head underneath. She rubbed against the hollow of his armpit, and Malfoy laughed. The morning light shone through a high window, lightening his hair and making him glow. He was beautiful in a stark, unusual way: complex and aggravating, to be sure, but beautiful. 

Harry didn’t know what to say. He’d known that the Malfoys and other collaborators, those not in Azkaban, had been shunned by most of wizarding society, but until now, he hadn’t really cared. Lucius was under house arrest but deserved far more in Harry’s opinion. And while Harry had written a letter in support of dismissing the charges against Narcissa and Malfoy, he had simply done it to repay Malfoy’s mother for her role in saving his life. He hadn’t cared about what would happen to Malfoy.

But he did now. Somehow the blond git had gotten under his skin, and now Harry ached for him. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. I have a penchant to be maudlin, but you mustn’t let me feel sorry for myself. This, taking care of her, has done me good. I love it, actually.” 

Lethe squawked and shook her head. She seemed to be getting tired, and Malfoy put a woolen blanket on her back before they left the stall, making sure she bedded down comfortably. “I’ll be back later,” he told her. “We’ll go outside for a walk and fly, all right?” She let out a sleepy snuffle and laid her head down. 

“Thank you for showing me,” Harry said as they walked outside together. Impulsively, he grabbed Malfoy’s hand, which was warm and freshly cleaned from a charm. “I think you’re wonderful with her.” 

“I still have the rest of the animals to tend,” said Malfoy, blushing and staring down at their entwined fingers with something like disbelief on his face. It was complete madness, perhaps; just a few short weeks ago they had been enemies, or at the very least antagonists, and now everything had changed. 

Harry squeezed Malfoy’s hand. “That’s okay. Just . . . later, come to my room after dinner. Stay the night with me. It’s Christmas Eve, after all.” He pressed his advantage by drawing Malfoy closer, so that they were chest-to-chest, Malfoy’s slightly taller stature forcing him to look down into Harry’s eyes. What Harry saw there pleased him and scared him in equal measure. 

“All right,” said Malfoy. “It’s Christmas Eve, after all.”

***

Professor McGonagall had invited them to dine with the staff still in the school, but Harry and Malfoy both declined. Instead, they had dinner as they always did in the eighth year common room, this time roast beef, dressing, and a fresh apple pie. Harry was too excited to be hungry, though, and it seemed like Malfoy felt the same. They both picked at their food, sneaking glances whenever one thought the other wasn’t looking. It was a game of cat and mouse, but Harry wasn’t sure which of them was which.

Finally, Malfoy stood and stretched, his soft-looking green jumper rising to give Harry a glimpse of skin. “Shall we?” he said, the confident words betrayed by the way he nibbled his bottom lip. The fire crackled and popped, giving the room a cosy atmosphere, and Harry almost suggested staying put for a while to enjoy a glass of firewhiskey, but then he noticed the bulge in Malfoy’s trousers. He stood up fast. 

Harry’s room was quiet and dark, and as they entered Malfoy stumbled into him from behind, catching him around the waist to stop himself from falling. They stood there for a minute as the movement became a more purposeful hug, and Harry could feel every inch of Malfoy against him.

“You’re already hard,” he said hoarsely. His own prick responded immediately, starting to stiffen in his jeans.

“Mmm.” Malfoy kissed his neck, his hot mouth and tongue working what Harry was sure would be a bruise into the skin. He leaned back into it, letting himself be totally enveloped by Malfoy, grinding his arse back against the huge erection as his stomach fluttered with anticipation and nerves. Would Malfoy want to fuck him? The thought of the substantial girth and length filling him was compelling, but he wasn’t sure he was ready. Still, he couldn’t get the image out of his head, imagining what Malfoy would look like as he slid inside. 

As if sensing his hesitation, Malfoy stilled. “Are you sure you want to do this?” 

Harry turned, glad the room was still dark; he was sure his face was flaming. “I’ve never—”

“Fucked a boy before. Yes, Potter, I know. But I was really hoping to get your cock in me by the end of the night, so let me know if I should adjust my expectations, if you don’t—”

“Wait, you want me to?” 

“Well, yes.”

“Oh. I thought you would be the one to . . . er . . . be on top.” 

Malfoy’s eyes went wide, his nostrils flaring. “Do you want me to?” 

“I do. I mean, I’m a little intimidated, not gonna lie, but Merlin, I want to feel that huge prick of yours inside of me.” 

“Salazar, Harry,” said Malfoy, not even seeming to realise he’d used Harry’s first name. “No one’s ever wanted me to . . . I don’t want to hurt you.” 

Seeing the excitement and concern on Malfoy’s—Draco’s—face did much to alleviate Harry’s nerves. He was suddenly sure of what he wanted: he wanted to be the one to give Draco this, no matter what happened in the future between them. Draco, he thought, testing the name in his mind before he said it out loud. It sounded right.

“You won’t, if we go slow. I’ve learned a couple of spells that should help.” 

“You’ve been preparing for this?” 

Harry snorted, drawing Draco through the room towards his bed. “How else do you think I’ve been spending all my time? I certainly haven’t had any luck with my essay.” 

“For Auror training? Neither have I.” 

“Well, maybe we can help each other. Tomorrow. Tonight, I want you to fuck me.” 

That statement seemed to provide the impetus they needed to get their clothes off and cast privacy and lighting spells. Harry flung his kit onto the floor as Draco did the same, any pretence of fastidiousness abandoned. They tangled together on Harry’s bed, mouths seeking and biting and kissing as they moved against each other. Harry reached between them and felt for Draco’s erection, groaning as Draco thrust into his hand. The thought that it would be inside him had Harry’s own prick throbbing, leaking onto his sheets. 

“Let me . . .” Draco said, trailing off as he kissed his way down Harry’s chest and belly, tickling the sensitive skin of his stomach and ignoring his aching cock. He pressed his mouth against the insides of Harry’s thighs, licking and biting, and then encouraged Harry to lift his hips and expose his hole. He grabbed his wand and whispered a cleansing charm, and Harry flushed head to toe with the realisation of what he was about to do. 

“Merlin,” said Harry, the word becoming a groan as Draco licked across his fluttering rim. Pleasure burst through him as the tentative licks became more probing, Draco’s tongue hot and insistent, working him open. Harry’s legs were draped over Draco’s shoulders, and Draco Summoned a pillow to get Harry’s hips higher, give him more leverage. 

Harry felt himself relax, his rim start to loosen as Draco cast a lubrication charm before adding one finger, then another. His mouth was on Harry’s bollocks, sucking one and then the other into his mouth while his fingers moved deeper. Harry’s prick weeped onto his belly, but he resisted touching himself. He knew if he did it would all be over in a matter of seconds.

Draco moaned against his arse, and Harry could see his free hand moving, wanking his big cock with slow, lazy movements. It was impressive, the foreskin pulled back to reveal the wide, slippery head, and Harry burned with desire to feel it inside. 

“I think I’m ready,” he said.

“How should we do this?” Draco asked. 

Harry had indeed given the positioning some thought. “On your back,” he said. “Let me ride you.” 

Draco flung himself into position so quickly, he was almost a blur. He looked young and vulnerable laying on the bed, his massive prick contrasting with his slim build, and Harry wanted to make it good for him. He straddled Draco’s hips, grinding his arse down against his prick, and he whispered the wandless spell he’d been practicing. It was an odd feeling: he loosened even further, and his arse felt strangely empty, hungry for Draco’s prick. The spell was designed to increase sensation as well as provide protection from being stretched, and Harry was glad he’d had the forethought to do some studying, though not the sort of which Hermione would approve. 

Draco gnawed his bottom lip and gripped Harry’s thighs tightly as Harry continued to tease him. Harry’s own prick stood at direct attention, so hard he could probably come without being touched. He seemed so small compared to Draco, though he was of average length and thicker than most. He wasn’t jealous about it, though. It was a massive turn-on. 

Not wanting to waste any more time, Harry conjured some additional lube and took Draco in hand, wanking him from root to tip, slicking him up. Draco shuddered and groaned, his eyes on fire, fingers digging into the flesh of Harry’s thighs hard enough to leave bruises. 

Harry leaned forward, positioning the tip against his hole and breathing out, as he’d read. He pushed out and started to sit, and the head of Draco’s cock was inside. In spite of the preparation, the first breach was shock. He breathed slowly and allowed himself to adjust to the feeling, while his thighs trembled with the effort of holding still.

“Oh gods,” Draco panted. He was obviously having a hard time keeping still as well. Harry sank down another inch as the burn subsided, and then another, and another, until Draco was halfway home. Harry wished he could see what it looked like, the huge cock stretching him. Draco’s eyes were riveted to the spot where they were connected. Instead, Harry reached down and felt his stretched rim with his fingertips, amazed at how it accommodated the girth. 

“Save your memory for me,” Harry whispered. 

“Salazar, I will. You look so fucking good on my cock.” 

“You feel good,” Harry said, amazed it was true. He took another deep breath, pushed out and sank lower still, until finally, finally, he was seated in Draco’s lap. The feeling of fullness was incredible, and he groaned as Draco thrust up minutely, as though he could push himself even deeper. He had never felt so connected to another person: even when he’d had sex with Ginny, it hadn’t been like this. Maybe it was the fact he was on the receiving end, or maybe it was Draco, and the history of their fraught relationship gave everything added weight. Or maybe it was Draco’s brilliant, huge prick. 

Harry leaned forward, bracing himself with his hands on either side of Draco’s head as he started to lift off and then settle again. The pace he set was slow at first, a tentative rise and fall that stoked the fire in his belly. His prick leaked, and Harry was so tempted to wank himself off, but he resisted. He wanted it to last. 

“Yes, Harry. Ride me. Just like that.” Draco started to move his hips, and soon they had established a more satisfying rhythm, their bodies moving in synchronicity. Harry caught Draco’s lips in an occasional kiss that was more a brush of lips and exchange of breath than anything else. The feeling of Malfoy sliding into him lit the nerves at the base of his spine. He felt his orgasm start to build from the hot, slippery place they were connected. 

Draco was sweating, his blond hair sticking to his forehead and snarled across the pillow. In an impulsive moment, Harry reached down and gathered the strands, tugging at Draco’s scalp. Draco ran his hands up and down Harry’s chest, tweaking his nipples, and then across his thighs. One hot, sweaty hand gripped Harry’s cock and started to stroke without finesse.

“Want to feel me come on your cock?” Harry gritted out. He could barely believe what he was saying. 

Draco nodded furiously, his own hips snapping. They were chasing it together, both of them barrelling toward release. Harry got there first. Jets of come sprayed Draco’s chest as Harry’s orgasm shook him, making his arse clench as Draco cried out. Harry could feel the throb deep within him as Malfoy emptied himself, filling Harry up, his come slicking the way for the last few deep thrusts.

Exhausted, Harry collapsed onto Draco, not even bothering to cast a cleansing charm first. Draco muttered with disapproval but wrapped his arms around Harry anyway as their breathing settled and Draco’s cock softened and slipped out, leaving Harry empty. He looked into Draco’s eyes, feeling strangely exposed. Draco didn’t look away. He wondered what Draco saw on his face, if the intensity of the emotion welling up inside of him was obvious, even if he couldn’t quite name the feelings.

“Am I crushing you?” he asked. 

“No. But I’d like to get rid of the mess, if you don’t mind.” 

“Of course. Let me just . . .” Harry managed to heft his still trembling body off as Draco’s cleansing charm caressed his skin, almost like a light touch. 

It was the first time they’d actually lain together, rather than retreating to their respective rooms, so it took a bit of negotiation to get comfortable. Finally, Draco huffed a sigh and cast a charm to widen the bed, which was bloody brilliant in Harry’s estimation. He wondered why he’d never thought to do the same, but he supposed that was the difference between their respective childhoods. Magic would never be something Harry took for granted. 

Somewhere in the castle, a clock struck midnight. 

“Happy Christmas, Draco,” said Harry. 

“What did you just call me?” 

Harry propped his head up on his arm. “You started it.” 

“I did? I guess I did.” Malfoy arched an eyebrow at the begrudging admission. “I always hoped you’d be the one to break first.” 

“I guess it doesn’t matter which one of us did, I’m just glad.” 

Draco nodded. “Agreed.” 

Outside, snow had begun to fall. Harry stayed awake for a long time after Draco finally dozed off, wondering what would happen next. He missed his friends, but he almost wished they weren’t coming back the following week. There were so many things he had to decide before then, chief among them how and what to tell them about Draco. 

He knew he didn’t want to stop seeing Draco; that was too painful to contemplate. Ron was Harry’s best mate, though, and he would be angry to learn Harry had fallen for a Death Eater, someone they had all hated for most of their lives. Someone who he considered partially responsible for his brother’s death. 

Harry’s stomach clenched as he listened to Draco’s quiet breathing. Fallen. He had fallen for Draco Malfoy, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

***

“And you’ll never believe what Mum sent you.” Ron rolled his eyes as he held out a soft package wrapped in brown paper, the inevitable Christmas sweater of the year. Harry was touched, though, as he always was, that Molly considered him one of the family. Of course it also made him feel guilty for staying away, especially since he had spent all of that time shagging Draco.

As if on cue, Draco laughed from across the room, where he stood with Pansy and Zabini, the three of them exchanging Christmas gifts. It had been an amazing rest of the week since their first night. They had been almost inseparable, with Harry helping Draco out caring for the animals during the day and then spending every night together in either Draco or Harry’s room. Sometimes they worked on their application essays, others they just fucked around. None of the teachers bothered them, not even McGonagall, though Harry suspected the house elves had seen certain things they’d be compelled to divulge. No one had intruded. 

But now the real world was crashing back in on them, whether they wanted it to or not. 

“We really did miss you, Harry,” said Hermione, her eyes concerned. “You said in your Owl you had something to tell us in person. Is everything okay?” 

Harry glanced around the busy common room. He didn’t particularly want to come out to his friends in front of their entire year, especially since he hadn’t had the chance to tell Draco of his plans yet. He’d made them only that morning, sending the Owl to Hermione before he could talk himself out of it.

“Later,” he told her. “Let’s have dinner first.” 

The Great Hall was bustling and filled with noisy chatter as they took their usual seats. It was strange not eating with Draco, and Harry missed his snarky commentary and sidelong glances. Dean and Ron were chatting about Quidditch, and Hermione was talking to Ginny and Padma about a Muggle novel she was reading that she thought they’d like. Harry spent most of the meal staring at Draco’s back, watching him laugh with his friends, and wondering why he didn’t seem miserable without Harry by his side. 

Of course that was silly. They couldn’t always be together. But the longer the evening wore on without Draco’s attention, the more the previous two weeks started to feel like an unlikely dream. 

“And what about you, mate,” said Dean. “How was hols with the wanker?” He made a jerk-off motion, and everyone save Harry and Hermione laughed. 

“It was fine,” Harry said, swallowing down his anger. He didn’t want his friends to make fun of Draco, and he wished he could turn back time and stop Dean from ever seeing Draco like that. He was probably just jealous.

“Did he give you a look at that giant cock?” Dean asked, leaning in. Padma tittered, and Ron went puce, his mouth falling open in disgust. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Harry. “I hardly saw Malfoy over hols.” 

He’d only said it to deflect Dean and stop him from arsing about, but just then, an unmistakable voice spoke from behind. “I see.” 

Everyone looked up. Harry turned around, his heart in his throat, and met Draco’s angry glare. “I see how it is, Potter,” Draco nearly spat the last word. He turned before Harry could protest, walking out of the room with quick, long strides. 

“Bollocks,” said Harry, feeling the blood drain out of his face. 

Hermione was looking at him with a small frown. “Is that what you wanted to tell us?” 

“Huh? Tell us what?” Ron looked confused. 

Ginny crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not surprised at all. Pay up, Dean.” He forked over what looked like ten galleons. 

“Can someone tell me what the bloody hell is going on?” Ron exclaimed. 

Harry looked from one to the other, hardly knowing where to begin. “Um,” he said. “I think I better go after Draco.” 

“Draco?” Comprehension seemed to finally dawn on Ron’s face as Harry stood up and started running. His friends could wait; in fact, it was probably better for them to digest the truth without him there. Draco, on the other hand, could not.

It was easy to find him, and Harry was somewhat surprised he’d been successful as he entered the quiet barn, ears perking up at the sound of Draco’s voice softly speaking to Lethe. He figured Draco wouldn’t have come here if he hadn’t wanted to be found. 

There were angry tears in Draco’s eyes, but he blinked them away, turning to face the Hippogriff when Harry entered the stall. “What do you want, Potter?” 

“You, you idiot.” Lethe let out a squawk as Harry approached, ruffling her feathers around Draco, as if telling Harry to keep his distance. He held up his hands to assure her, and maybe Draco, that he meant no harm. 

 

Draco sniffed. “Is this supposed to be some sort of half-arsed apology? It’s appalling what passes for manners to Gryffindors. No thank you.” 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that to Dean, but he was being a twat. I didn’t want to tell everyone like that.” 

“You called me Malfoy.” 

“I know.” Harry could feel the sting of it, and he knew if Draco had said the same to his friends, he would have been hurt. They still had a lot to learn about each other, but if he couldn’t make this up to Draco, they’d never get the chance. “But after you left, I called you Draco in front of Ron, and he almost fell out of his chair.” 

“Only because I made a scene.” 

“You’re going to have an answer for everything I say, aren’t you?” 

That earned him half a grin, which was quickly hidden behind a stretching wing. “Probably.” 

“Listen,” Harry said. “I was going to tell Hermione and Ron tonight, but I didn’t get the chance. Dean had to go and start talking about your—erm—and I didn’t want it to be about that. About sex.” He scrubbed his hand over his head. As he spoke, Draco ran his hands along Lethe’s sides, checking her molting feathers. He seemed to be listening carefully, though. Harry could see the play of emotions on his face. “Just about sex, that is. Because, I like you. I like how you are with Lethe. I like how you’re trying to change. I like how you never stop talking. I like how you tell me the truth about myself.” 

“You like my cock.” 

Harry bit back a laugh. “That too.” 

“That sodding fool Dean Thomas has no respect for privacy,” Draco muttered. “When a bloke casts three separate privacy and locking charms on a door to a shared dormitory room, you leave it alone. Salazar help me if I have to live with Gryffindors again during Auror training.” 

“What about rooming with one Gryffindor, in particular?” Harry took a step forward. 

“Would the Gryffindor in question happen to have terrible taste in clothes, but wonderful taste in men?” 

“Maybe so.” Another step. He held his hand out, and this time, Draco took it in his own. 

“We haven’t even gotten in yet.” 

“We will.” Harry didn’t know why he was so confident, but he had been especially moved by Draco’s admittance essay, which was on why Death Eaters should be allowed to repatriate. Harry’s own essay wasn’t terrible either, since he’d had Draco’s help. 

“You forgive me?” Harry stepped closer. Their breath steamed in the cold stable as they came together. 

“I forgive you. And . . . I wanted to say thank you . . . for not giving up on me.” And with that, Draco leaned down and kissed him, and it was far more effective than a warming charm. Lethe made an indignant sound and stamped her feet, but Harry ignored her. He was too busy with his hands in Draco’s hair, pulling him closer. He was too busy choosing Draco, the rest of the world be damned. 

They broke apart and Harry couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from deep inside of him. He felt happy, and for the first time since the end of the war, unashamed to be so. 

“What in the world are you laughing about?” 

“You.” 

“Oh, wonderful. I’m glad my kisses are so amusing.” Draco was smiling. “I can’t believe Harry Potter, bloody savior of the wizarding world is dating--.” 

 

“Draco Malfoy, Hippogriff wrangler.” Harry leaned forward for another kiss. “That’s what they’ll say about us in the Prophet.” 

Draco’s lips were soft, his eyes bright. “That, or much worse. Are you sure you’re ready?” 

Harry nodded. “Are you?” 

There was no hesitation when Draco too both of Harry’s hands. “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”


End file.
